Blank Pages
by Electrixx
Summary: Don't judge a book by its cover? Yeah, right. It doesn't matter that she's the most exciting chapter of my life, the most intriguing thing I've ever read, or the most beautiful character to ever exist. Appearances are everything; I can never forget that.
1. Perfect

**They say don't judge a book by its cover, but its instinct. It doesn't matter that she's the most exciting chapter of my life, the most intriguing thing I've ever read, or the most beautiful character to ever exist. Appearances are everything, and I can never forget that.**

**I. Perfect**

"Are you going to Michael's party tonight?"

I ignore Carlisle, pretending that my music is too loud.

It's useless. He yanks out my headphones, "Edward, I asked if you were going to Mike Newton's party tonight."

I hated that little runt. I did not want to go to his party. I didn't even want to be in the same room with him.

"Yeah dad, I'm going with Emmett." And Jasper too, but I know better than to mention him.

He nods, "Good, good. It's a great way to celebrate your victory against La Push."

"We haven't won yet, dad," I sigh, stabbing the center of my eggs. I'm oddly fascinated as I witness the trapped yolk that's been perfectly molded into its designated shape rushes towards the punctures, gushing out wildly at the first sign of freedom. "I heard that they're better this year. They might give us a good run tonight."

He chuckles, the sound echoing throughout the stark kitchen. I can't tell if the echo made the chuckle sound cold and empty, or if it was that way to begin with. He continues reading his newspaper, "They can practice for years, but now that you're the quarterback, they don't stand a chance. They're a pathetic excuse for a rival and they will never beat you."

I become bold, inspired by the yolk's escape. "And if we don't win?"

He glances up from his paper, a stern gleam in his eye, "You will win."

And I know better than to say anything else.

I glance back down at my plate. The yolk is pooling at the edge of the plate, only a few inches away from the egg white. It spent so long in captivity, and it finally burst free at the first opportunity, but now it's lying aimless in the middle of nowhere. It's still so close to home, and all it wants to do is flee further, but the edge of the plate is preventing him. He can't see over it. He doesn't know what exists on the other side. He doesn't know whether the jump will be worth it or not. What if he jumps and hits the floor, splattering into ruins?

He should just stay where it's safe.

"When you boys get home today, you're both helping me scrub this place down from top to bottom," Esme declares as she marches into the kitchen.

"Oh?" Carlisle takes a sip of his coffee, "What's the occasion?"

She freezes, shooting him a vicious glare, "Are you seriously telling me you haven't the slightest clue what, or rather who, is coming in a few weeks?"

The tips of his ears tinge pink. His perfection is marred, but he calmly attempts to maneuver out of his hole, "Well, I know Thanksgiving is coming up, but I thought we were going to my father's house as usual."

Esme's nostrils flare. She thinly attempts to contain her anger, but her narrowed eyes imply that she's seconds away from beating some sense into Carlisle. "Doctor Cullen, I know that somebody of your supposed intelligence should be able to remember who is flying in from England. I know you haven't forgotten about your own daughter."

Everything stills, fearful to move and be caught in the crossfire of the wonderful Mr. and Mrs. Cullen's dispute. Yes, a dispute, not a fight. After all, Cullens are too classy for fights.

An eerie silence sweeps in, so quiet that I would have been able to hear Carlisle's beads of sweat drip onto the floor, but Cullen men do not sweat. Perspiration is for wimps. Cullen men are strong and confident, tough and charming.

"Alice," my father states, as if to test the name out on his tongue, see if the bitter aftertaste has finally faded.

Judging by his frown, it has not, so I spring from my chair to escape the argument. "I'll be home after the game to help you clean, mom."

She thinly smiles at me, "Thanks, dear."

My father clears his throat, "Edward, did I hear you say you will be home after the game? What about Mike's party to celebrate your team's victory?"

"Well, mom needs help cleaning, so…"

"We have weeks before your sister is due, go to the party."

"Oh no, I don't have to if-"

"Go," he snaps, but doesn't really snap, because his voice remains even and calm. "Your teammates expect it of you."

I glance over at my mother and see that she is no longer bothering to veil her anger. She's glaring daggers at my father's head, leaving him barely alive, barely conscious enough to feel the agonizing pain as she roasts his carcass over a blistering blaze.

I know she hates it when my dad undermines her, so I glance at her, wanting her opinion, "What's my curfew?"

"Eleven."

"A respectable hour; it doesn't need to be definitively defined," my dad declares, completing ignoring my mother, "Be safe."

I wonder why he even bothers. I think he's so used to pretending to be the perfect and respectable father for the outside eye in public, that it's crept into our private life. He's grown paranoid, believing that everyone is focused on us, inspecting our façade for even the slightest crack. Even though we're behind closed doors now, and we both know that I have no curfew, he puts forth an act. He pretends to be the stern and loving father during the day, but when I creep through the door in the middle of the night reeking of offensive odors, he will look away.

I know he will because he's done it before.

Besides, I'm the popular and charming, brilliant and successful star-athlete. It's expected that I do a little partying here and there, engage in drinking and girls from time to time.

I play my part perfectly.

_A/N: My name's Krystal and I'll keep this short. I've already written the first few chapters and I'll try to update at least once a week. Feel free to review and give any constructive criticism; I'm open to anyone's advice. Also, I don't have a beta, so I apologize for any grammatical errors._


	2. Beautiful

**II. Beautiful**

"So have you decided whether or not you're going to Newton's party tonight?"

I glance at Emmett, keeping my grimace at bay. He knows that I despise Newton. He doesn't know that I never really had the choice in whether or not I would attend Newton's party. I shrug, "Yeah, I hate that annoying fucker, but he usually throws good parties. Besides, I heard Jessica might be there tonight."

"Jessica, huh?" Emmett chuckles, "You do realize that Lauren is going to be chasing after you with a rusty chainsaw, trying to castrate you, right? I can't even imagine what her reaction's going to be when she finds out you're chasing after her best friend."

"It will be ex-best friend by the time Edward is done with them," Jasper declares, not bothering to look up as he sprawls the calculus notes.

A guy shouldn't come between best friends, and something tugs inside of me at the thought of destroying a friendship, but I push it away. Girls like Jessica and Lauren are perfect for guys like me. They're cheerleaders with great bodies and pretty faces. I date a girl for a few months, become single for a week, and start the process all over again.

When the period ends, Emmett races out to meet his girlfriend Rosalie. I linger, waiting for Jasper to gather his things. When we stroll out into the hallway, I clear my throat, "So Thanksgiving is coming up… which means Alice will be coming home."

Even though the hall is crowded with hundreds of boisterous conversations and I can't make out a single distinct word, I can somehow hear his sharp intake of breath. I can see him tense, walking down the hallway like a ghost, pale and invisible to his surroundings. "Oh, that's… it's nice that you'll get to see her again."

"Yes, I'll get to see her again, but the question is will you?"

He releases out a breathy laugh, "Yeah, because your dad will definitely want that."

I try to laugh, but the sound withers and dies in my throat. Jasper and Emmett are the closest things I have to friends. I don't want to pretend with them. Well, not any more than I have to. Not any more than my father expects me to. "It doesn't really matter what my dad wants. You know Alice would want it."

A bitter laugh claws its way up his throat, full of disgust and self-hatred, "I ruined your sister's life. She definitely doesn't want to see me ever again."

"Jasper, I-" My statement is useless because he turns down another hallway, practically racing towards his next class.

I sigh, striding into my English class, slipping into my seat. I catch Bella Swan peeking at me for a second before she glances back down at her notebook. After the first week of school, I don't even bother to greet her anymore. I would say hello, and she would flush a horribly uncomfortable shade of red, mutter an unintelligible greeting, and yank her hair from behind her ear to shield herself from me.

Needless to say, I only spoke to Bella Swan when necessary.

"Okay, class," Mrs. Banner spoke as the bell rang, "I finished grading your poetry projects yesterday and am ashamed at how disappointing they all were. It's obvious that twelve years of school has beaten all the creativity and imagination out of you guys, but that's about to change. I've designed a project that will be sure to get your creative juices flowing."

A few of the students groaned, but most of us just remained silent. Once Mrs. Banner had a plan in her head, nothing else existed until it was carried out to the last detail. Besides, anything had to be better than poetry.

"I'll be coming around with a hat and you will draw out a piece of paper that has an idiom written on it. Now here comes the fun part," a wicked grin crosses her features, "You will be writing a ten page interpretation of the quote, which might sound difficult, but is actually quite easy. As long as you remain school appropriate, there really is no right or wrong way to write your paper because it's from your own experience and personal opinion on the topic."

As she began walking around the room, some people began complaining about their topic, to which she promptly claimed, "And absolutely no switching topics with another student."

When the hat was finally shoved in my face, I reached my hand in, silently begging that I didn't get a stupid one like 'it's raining cats and dogs' or 'don't count your chickens before they hatch'. As I began unfolding my paper, a brick of dread dropped to the pit of my stomach.

_Don't judge a book by its cover._

I almost wished my dad was here so I could show him this, to hear his scoff and condescending remark. Appearance was everything, I had heard that countless times growing up, from both my father and grandfather. Within ten seconds of meeting someone, you gather an opinion of them. A great appearance is the key to making a great impression, which in turn leads to other great things.

Nobody wants to associate with something ugly.

I wanted to raise my hand and ask Mrs. Banner if I could trade this project for something else. I would gladly continue the poetry unit instead. Hell, I wouldn't even complain if she sprinkled in a little bit of Shakespeare's dreadful plays, too.

I glance around the classroom, noticing that most people were disinterested or neutral towards their topic. A select few were smiling, probably having received the easier quotes that could surely supply ten pages of written information. I then peek at Bella, noticing that she is trying hard to appear unaffected. She isn't moving or making any sounds, and if wasn't for the slight crease between her brows, I would never know she was troubled, probably hating her quote as much as I hated mine.

Well, at least I wasn't the only one who was about to go through hell.

**A/N: I feel like I should warn you that this is going to be a slow burn. Edward has had his morals jammed into his head for years, and it's going to take more than a day for him to come to his senses. Also, I'm aware that the chapters are short and superficial, but they will get longer and more in -depth after the story is established. Just bear with me for a few more chapters :)**


	3. Charming

**III. Charming**

We won.

And I should be ecstatic that we beat La Push by ten points.

But I'm not.

"Dude, we were awesome out there tonight! We make a great team." Mike clunks his beer with mine, cheering.

"Yeah, the team is great this year," I smile, and the amount of alcohol in my system makes it almost look real. I can almost pretend that I don't mind being here. I can cling onto that dizzy and unfocused feeling, pretend I'm somewhere else, pretend that I'm happy.

Mike scoffs, "No dude, half of our team is shit. Coach needs to stop picking favorites and give me more playing time. Half of these bitches must suck the coach's dick, because I don't understand how they get so much field action."

Because they're better players than you are, I want to state, but refrain from doing so. I wonder if Newton has a father like mine, breathing down his neck and pushing him to be the absolutely best at everything. If I was constantly siting on the bench, my father would not be happy, and by extension, I would not be happy either. But then again, Carlisle is fairly happy now, so I should be too, right?

But I'm not.

I take another swig of my drink.

"I think you should slow down, Eddie boy," Emmett attempts to grab my drink, but I yank it out of his reach.

"Go lecture Jasper about the power of abstaining; he needs it more than I do." I was sure of that. Within minutes of arriving at the party, he branched away from us, hanging out in the backyard with the stoners. He certainly wasn't feeling any pain tonight, but if Alice ever found out about this, pain would be the only thing he felt once she rammed her spiked heels up his ass. Yes, our dear, sweet Alice was quite the spitfire. Or rather, that was how she was before she was shipped off to England. I hadn't talked to her in almost a year, so I didn't really know anymore.

I chug the rest of bottle and stand to get another one, but Emmett drags me back down. Sometimes I forget how strong the big bitch is. Once you got to know him and his boyish behavior, his massive size sort of faded into the background. He stares at me for a few moments, shaking his head, "I already know what's wrong with Jasper, but what I don't understand is why you're trying to drown in a bottle."

I can feel the corners of my mouth turn into a maniacal grin, "I'm celebrating, man." I give up then, allowing my grin to slip into a glare, "Now get the fuck off of me."

He lets go without another word, and I storm off in search of something stronger. When I spot a group of people taking tequila shots, I realize that this is the first time something has actually gone right today. I grab the bottle and contemplate downing the entire thing, but then I spy a head of brown hair closing in on me.

I toss back the shot, sporting something between a grimace and a grin as Jessica Stanley greets me with a friendly hug, "Hey, Edward."

"Hey, Jess." Oh shit, did my words just slur? I can tell by her cringe that they did. Even though I'm reluctant to admit that Emmett was right, I can't deny that I'm completely trashed. My original plan to charm Jessica is sure to fall through, but I can't help but give it a shot. Cullen men aren't quitters. "Wanna go upstairs? It's quiet." She stiffens, but I can see in her eye that she's considering it. "We can talk." And do other things, I mentally add.

See? We Cullen men aren't liars. We just omit unnecessary details and stretch the truth to cover the holes in the stories.

She nods, and as she grabs my hand to lead me upstairs, I'm a mixture of both disappointed and gleeful. I'm giddy that even in my worst state, I wasn't rejected, but I'm disappointed that she didn't know better. Jessica should have said no, I know that, and I'm not sure why she didn't. Maybe it's because of low self-esteem or desperation, or maybe even both, but I know that no one should have agreed to this. She has to see past my charming façade. She has to know that I'm selfish and manipulative, using her for my own benefit.

Yet something inside of me tells me that the majority of the female population would repeat Jessica's mistake if they were in the same position.

I suppose Carlisle would be proud of how suave I am.

As soon as the door shut behind us, I shove her against the wall, sucking and nipping at her neck. She concedes for a few moments before feebly pushing at my chest, "Wait, I thought we were going to talk."

I nod, humming against her neck, "We will talk, later."

She lets out a breathless laugh, "We shouldn't. What about Lauren…"

I freeze, a foreign emotion swelling inside of me. "Right, I dated Lauren, and Lauren is your best friend. That's against girl code, right?"

She giggles, reaching up to cup my face, "Oh Edward, that's adorable, but if you really like me, I could never say no to you. We just have to keep this between us. What Lauren doesn't know, won't hurt her."

Whatever hope I had in the good of humanity has completely deflated. I struggle to keep my expression neutral, so I bury my face into her neck, "Yeah, sounds great."

It's the end of October, and I know that by the middle of November, I'll grow bored and end it with Jess. I know that it's wrong of me, but I shove the guilt into the back of my mind. This is what I'm expected to do, and girls like Jessica and Lauren are collateral damage.

It doesn't matter who I hurt. It doesn't matter how many people I injure. It doesn't matter how much damage I cause.

The only thing that matters is if Carlisle is happy.

I owe it to him.

**A/N: Okay, so some of you may have noticed that I've been changing the chapter titles, which is probably annoying, but I came to a decision today. Whereas before I was planning to have the chapters in an equal amount of Edward's and Bella's POV, I've decided that this is going to be primarily Edward's POV. Therefore, each of the chapter titles is going to address a characteristic that the Edward is expected to exhibit.**

**Also, be excited for chapter 5. That's when things start to pick up. Chapters get longer and we will definitely see more of a certain girl.**


	4. Strong

**IV. Strong**

A little past midnight, I strolled through the door. I tried to escape upstairs without being noticed, but someone in the living room cleared their throat.

"You're home early."

"Esme said to be home at eleven."

Carlisle shrugs, "And I told you to be home at a decent hour and be safe. I would consider midnight to be a decent hour and you seem fairly safe, wouldn't you agree?"

"But Esme said-"

"I'll take care of your mother, Edward." He glances up from the book he was pretending to read in the moonlight. The light illuminates only half of his face, leaving the other half submerged in darkness. I can see the dark shadows under his eyes, the wrinkles beneath his lips, from perpetual frowning, as Esme would tease. For someone who could buy the whole world, Carlisle Cullen is the most miserable man to exist.

"Well, I'm going to go upstairs now…"

"Get a good night's rest, son."

I nod, even though he has turned his attention back to his book. I wonder why he even bothers. He and I both know he isn't reading. He will stare at the pages for a few moments, wait until I'm in my room, and then head upstairs for bed.

As I reach the top of the stairs, he calls out, "Oh, and Edward?"

"Yes sir?"

"Congratulations on your victory over La Push." I refrain from scoffing. I knew there was a reason he waited up for me. I don't even bother to reply as I walk into my room and collapse onto my bed.

I stare up at the ceiling, trying to will away the empty feeling that settles in my gut. I have a good life. I have good grades, I have a rich family, I have more than enough friends, and I have the perfect future ahead of me. I sigh, knowing that I should be happy.

Maybe I was wrong; maybe Carlisle isn't the most miserable man in the world.

Maybe I am.

**(…)**

"Edward Anthony Cullen, are you hung-over?" I wince, but Esme's voice raises another octave. She's shrieking, "I can't believe this. You missed curfew _and_ you were out drinking?"

"I'm sorry-"

"I already talked to him about it last night, Esme." Carlisle coolly states as he strolls into the kitchen. The thing about Carlisle is that while he won't directly lie, he will bend and twist his words to his advantage. Did he talk to me last night about my curfew and drinking? Yes, he did. Was it the kind of chastisement that Esme was expecting? No, far from it.

Esme rolls her eyes, "Yeah, I'm sure you talked to him. What, _exactly_, did you say to him?"

I take a sip of my orange juice, hiding my smirk. Esme is dainty and sophisticated, but clever and sly enough to beat Carlisle at his own tricks. She's one of the few people with enough balls to confront the man who could destroy you if he wanted, not that he would. Carlisle is always calm and collected, and it takes a lot to make him angry, which means that when he _did_ get angry, he was to be avoided at all costs.

Carlisle pours himself a cup of coffee, not the least bit unnerved. "Edward was just celebrating his victory over La Push. His grades are good and he steers clear of trouble, so he should be allowed to celebrate every now and again, as long as it doesn't become a habit."

Esme glares at him, "I wasn't aware that alcohol was a requirement for celebration. What kind of doctor encourages underage drinking?"

Carlisle's eyes harden at the insult of his medical abilities, but he blinks, holding his eyes shut a second longer than necessary, and the calm exterior is back in place. "Edward's young, he should be allowed to have fun in moderation. Besides, he needs to get it out of his system before college and medical school." He then turns towards me, "There will be absolutely no room for slacking off in medical school, do you understand me? You cannot goof off and jeopardize your future."

It's not my future. It's his idea of what should be my future. I have no idea what I want my future to be.

But I don't think it really matters, so I just nod my acceptance.

Carlisle stares at me for a few moments. I suspect he's looking for submission, because when I have the urge to look away from his analytical gaze, he nods to himself in contentment. He pours another cup of coffee and places it in front of me. "Drink this, take some Advil, and go get ready. We're expected to meet your grandfather for brunch."

I stiffen, "Why?"

"He didn't really go into specifics. He just said he had something important to discuss." Carlisle begins massaging his temple, and I know to drop the subject. Carlisle's father is his weakness. Whenever his name is even brought up, Carlisle morphs into an unsure and temperamental stranger. I can't blame him, though. For as cold and perfectionistic as Carlisle is, his father is ten times worse.

**(…)**

"Edward, son, it's so nice to see you guys again," Carlisle Sr. shakes our hands at the door, then gives Esme a peck on the cheek, "And Esme, you're still as beautiful as ever."

She gives him a thin-lipped smile. Even though Esme has never directly stated it, it's obvious that she isn't fond of Carlisle's father. She disagrees with his materialistic and conservative nature; you can see it in her eyes, the light dimming whenever he makes an abrupt comment. If Carlisle didn't respect his father so much, didn't crave and strive for his approval, I knew that Esme wouldn't even bother with polite fronts.

As we take our seats around the table, Carlisle Sr. gets straight to business, "I'm sure you guys are wondering why I requested your presence today, correct? Well, as you know, my sixtieth birthday is fast approaching."

"Yes, we were aware of that, dad." I almost feel bad for Carlisle. He's practically fidgeting in his seat, his hands shaking as he brings his coffee mug to his mouth. I don't understand why Carlisle needs his father's approval so much. He's a decent human being and an extremely hard worker, sought after by some of the greatest hospitals in the world. He tries to do right by everyone, and even though he fails sometimes, especially when it came to family, he was trying his best.

Carlisle Sr. continued rambling, either not noticing or not caring that his son was a nervous wreck, "For a sixty year old man, I'm in fairly good shape, but I'm not as great as I used to be. That's why I was considering retiring from my position. I called you here so we could discuss the future of Cullen Medical Corporation."

Carlisle freezes. Any shaking and fidgeting has completely vanished, but I know that it's not because he has calmed, but rather because he's terrified. The fear is coursing throughout his veins, chilling him to the core, freezing any movement. He's petrified that his childhood dream of running the family business is about to be crushed. And while someone like me could care less about being in charge of and responsible for a medical corporation, it was all Carlisle had ever dreamed of, ever hoped for.

I could sense that this was his most challenging obstacle. Inheriting the family business was like his final test in life. He had either earned his father's trust and respect, or he hadn't.

Carlisle sr. turns to look at Carlisle, his cold gaze giving nothing away. "Son, I know we had quite a rough time when you were younger, but I'd like to think that you have moved past that. The petulant and lazy boy that you were has grown into a hard-working and dedicated man. You're a great doctor with a beautiful wife and great children, albeit one a little greater than the other." He shoots me a smile, thinking that I should be happy that he complimented me, rather than furious that he insulted Alice.

I can tell that Esme is bothered by his insinuation because she opens her mouth to protest, but Carlisle lays his hand upon hers, rubbing soothing circles. Now I'm not only angry at my grandfather for being an insensitive ass, but Carlisle for being a coward. He merely forces a polite smile, "Thank you dad, that means a lot coming from you."

He nods, "Yes, I'm proud to claim you as my son, and even though there was a recent event that reflected badly upon the Cullen name," he's insulting Alice again, and Esme looks like she's seconds away from blowing, but he carries on in oblivion, "I still think you should be allowed to take over Cullen Medical Corporation when I resign. I trust that you will strengthen our company and bring in plenty of revenue."

Carlisle's eyes harden at the mention of money, but he shakes it away, smiling at his father, "I won't let you down. I will continue to maintain and improve the corporation." He doesn't comment about revenue. Even though Carlisle and his father have nearly identical personalities, one thing he didn't inherit was his father's greed. Carlisle didn't solely become a doctor because he wanted to inflate his bank account. Somewhere beneath the frozen exterior, there was a warm-hearted man that genuinely cared about people.

It seemed that while Carlisle was busy carving a perfect ice sculpture for his father, a strong and sturdy statue that would inspire awe inside of any spectator, bits and pieces of true personality had been shaved away, lost among the ice scraps, now lying dormant and numb. He may be cold now, but I had hope that it would only take a little warmth to restore him, melt all the broken pieces back into a united form.

Even though liquid water was shapeless and soft, it was still better than rigid and cold ice.

"Good, that's very good to hear," Carlisle Sr. then turns towards me, "And I want you to know that even though you aren't our bloodline, you have what it takes to be a Cullen. You're intelligent, athletic, charming, and strong. You're a very well-rounded young man, and I would be honored if Carlisle allowed you to carry on the business when the time comes. I can only hope that I'll be alive to see your wife and children; I'm sure they're going to be horribly beautiful."

I roll my eyes, "Yeah, maybe when I go to Dartmouth, I'll meet a tan and voluptuous, blonde bombshell."

Apparently my sarcasm is lost on him because he guffaws, slapping me on the back, "That's the spirit, my boy. You just remember one thing, and this is the same thing I told your father when he was younger: Appearance is everything. Nobody wants to associate, let alone conduct business, with something weak and ugly. You have to always strive for perfection."

I was striving for perfection, and judging by my father and grandfather, I was succeeding.

If I was so perfect, though, why did I feel so…

_Blah_.

That was the best way I could describe it because I wasn't entirely sure how I felt. I tried not to focus on it too often. There were a thousand adjectives swimming around in my head, but none of them fit the perfect mold I was striving for. I felt hollow and fake, like a plastic doll. I was just an attractive face, and I played the role of whatever was needed, having no choice but to go along with this game of dress up.

I shook my head, realizing that I was whining. People would kill to be in such a position like mine, and it was childish of me to be so ungrateful. I was being weak. I was the epitome of exactly what a Cullen man should _not_ be. I needed to be strong.

My grandfather was steel. Carlisle was ice. I was plastic.

We were all perfectly shaped and molded, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that even the strongest of substances had their melting points.

**Edward's been a bit of a downer, yeah? I know it can get a little annoying, but he's a young man trying to find his identity , yet still remain loyal to his family. Damn teenage angst. I'm allowed to say that now because I turned 18 and am officially a legal adult! :D But yeah, lighter times are coming soon!**

**Also, they made the review button all pretty and fancy-like. You should click it and give me a nice little birthday present ;) Hah, just kidding, but I do greatly appreciate any constructive criticism, so feel free!**


	5. Confident

**V. Confident**

"Okay class, I've been told that you don't want to write ten pages, so after endless consideration, I've revised the project. You now only have to write five pages about your quote based upon your personal opinion and experience with the topic." Sighs of relief are shared throughout the class, but I refrain from relaxing, noticing the mirth dancing in her eyes. She grins at us, "The other five pages of your report are to be based upon your partner's opinion and experience with your quote."

A few people in the back groan, but she narrows her eyes at them, "You're seniors; suck it up. I'll give you a few minutes to pick your partners and discuss your idioms."

I'm too lazy to get out of my seat, so I just question the people around me. Angela Webber has 'A picture is worth a thousand words', Erik Yorkie has 'Don't put all your eggs in one basket', and Ben Cheney has 'Don't cry over spilt milk'. None of these are quotes I would want to write one page about, let alone ten.

Then I glance to my left, realizing that Isabella hasn't moved an inch. I also realize that Mrs. Banner is staring at her, frowning. Isabella certainly wasn't a genius, but she also didn't seem like a slacker. I can't understand why she would blow off a project. I can see from Mrs. Banner's frown that she is seconds away from giving her a zero for the day, so I turn towards her, "What's your idiom?"

It's obvious that I've caught her off guard because her eyes widen, her cheeks flushing a furious red. She then glances back at her desk, whispering, "Blood is thicker than water." She's practically grimacing, and I can't say I blame her. I would be annoyed too if I had that quote, but then again, Isabella probably doesn't have a family like mine, either. She glances up at me, nibbling her lip, "What's yours?"

"Don't judge a book by its cover."

Her eyes widen in surprise, and then she shakes her head, a ghost of a smile forming upon her lips. I can't help but wonder what struck her as humorous. I don't think I'll ever know, though, because she glances back down at her desk in silence.

Mrs. Banner then stands up from her desk, "Okay class, I think I've given you sufficient time to discuss your topic. Have you all chosen your partner?" Most of the class nods. She then turns towards Bella with a raised eyebrow, a predatory gleam in her eye, "How about you, Bella? Who's your partner?"

She flushes, frantically glancing around the room. She's trapped, and she knows it. She's perfectly aware that Mrs. Banner is going to give her a zero for her participation grade, and she looks absolutely terrified at the prospect of failing. She looks back down at her desk, shoulders slumped as she opens her mouth, prepared to accept her fate.

"I'm her partner."

Isabella and Mrs. Banner both glance at me in shock. Hell, I'm a little shocked at myself, too. I couldn't help it, though. She looked so petrified and uncomfortable; someone had to help her. She reminded me of a harmless mouse, trapped between a snake and a cat, completely defenseless against her mighty predators, resigned to accept her brutal fate. Besides, out of all the quotes in the class, hers was the most intriguing one. I could suck it up for a few days and be the freak's partner; it would help both of us out.

Mrs. Banner blinks, recovering "Oh, well, that's good to hear." She then casts a dubious look at Bella, "I'm glad that my previous assumptions were wrong and you didn't just sit at your desk doing nothing. I would hate to fail such a good student for not using class time productively."

Isabella's furiously red face turns an even deeper shade of crimson, and she glances back down at her desk, nodding at the warning. She looks horribly uncomfortable, and if I was unaware of the fact that she typically had extremely pasty skin, I would have thought she had some kind of weird skin disease. And as if her skin wasn't bad enough, she began fussing with her hair in nervousness, making it frizzy and tangled. I shivered, disgusted at her disheveled appearance.

She needed to get her shit together.

The second the bell rang, Isabella clumsily sprung up, tripping over her own feet, determined to flee the class as quick as possibly. I refused to let my grade on the project be affected by her peculiar behavior, though, so I called out, "Wait, what about our project?"

She freezes, slowly turning around with that petrified look in her eyes. If I didn't know any better, I would say her parents were Martians; it was the only explanation for her huge, alien-like eyes and odd personality. She nibbles on her lip, "I, uh, what do you mean?"

I roll my eyes, making no effort to conceal my irritation with her. She was acting like a child, and I was quickly growing tired of it. "When are you free to work on the project?"

Her eyes widen again, clearly taken aback, and I can see the hurt and sadness lurking beneath her gaze. The guilt forms and settles in my stomach, a nauseous feeling weighing me down, but I ignore it. She has to know that her weak behavior won't get her very far in this world, and the sooner she realizes that, the better. But still, her childlike actions make me reluctant to harm her, so I clear my eyes of their irritation and impatience, keeping my gaze cool and cautious, "Today is one of the few days I don't have football practice after school, so if you aren't busy, do you want to come over and get started tonight?"

She begins stuttering, and I can feel my annoyance begin to rise again, but thankfully she notices this, and forces herself to relax enough to mutter, "I'll follow you to your house." I merely nod, glad to be finished with this horrible attempt at a conversation.

Once I'm seated, safe and secure in my Volvo, my obvious mistake begins replaying itself over and over in my mind. It's a shame that I didn't realize it sooner, because as I glance at the rusty and abused truck trailing behind me, I know I'm in way over my head. Something deep in the pit of my gut tells me that I'm going to grow to regret this day.

**It's been a while, and I apologize for that. Life's been…well, rough to say the least. Next chapter should be up within a week.**


	6. Tough

**VI. Tough**

I park in my driveway, waiting a quarter of an hour before Isabella rolls in behind me. When she hops out of her monstrous truck, she shoots me something that almost resembles a glare, although it completely lacks any menace or conviction. "How long have you lived in Forks?"

"Almost ten years."

"So you should know the speed limit by now, right?"

I shrug. I'm extremely impatient, which does not translate well to my driving. Luckily, I had never gotten pulled over, because if I did, I'm almost positive the cop would completely skip giving me a ticket and just take me to jail for reckless driving.

But then again, I speed so fast that a cop probably wouldn't be able to catch me in the first place.

"My dad's the chief of police, you know?"

I stiffen, turning to glare at her, "Is that a threat?" And if it is, I have no idea what I'll do. Maybe bribe her with money, or a better vehicle to replace her awful truck. If rumor somehow got around that I was reckless and endangered countless lives on a daily basis, I knew my father and grandfather would surely have an issue with the blemish on my otherwise untarnished record.

Because even if it was just one tiny little stain, it didn't matter, because if someone was looking closely enough, they could see the imperfection.

They could see weakness.

Her eyes widen, but rather than appearing afraid, she seems surprised, and then speckles of hurt begin trickling in. "I didn't mean that I was going to tell on you. I just meant, you know, that as a cop's daughter, I wasn't going to disobey the law just to keep up with you." She glances down at the ground, speaking so softly that the breeze threatens to carry her words away, "You shouldn't have expected me to speed."

For what seems like the hundredth time today, guilt begins setting in. I'm not used to being around such a fragile and breakable person. Cullen men are strong, and are thereby only associate with the strong.

Bella Swan was the farthest thing from strong.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, "Look, I'm sorry. You're right; it was wrong of me to expect you to speed. I was also wrong to assume that just because you're a cop's daughter, you're a snitch. It won't happen again, so can we just move onto the project now?"

She stares at me for a few moments, eyes narrowed in deep concentration, but whatever she's looking for isn't there. She looks away, shaking her head in disappointment. I'm waiting for her to speak up, but she never does. I grow anxious, not familiar with such silence. I'm used to people finding your flaws, then immediately reporting them to you, forcing you to fix it before your image is ruined. I've never had someone give me such scrutiny, taking in all my flaws, and then keeping the information to themselves.

I feel like the previously defenseless little girl now has a world of ammunition against me, only to be released at the perfect moment, leaving me fatally wounded.

"If you have something to say, say it." She glances up at me, eyes wide and innocent, which only provokes me further, "Don't be such a coward. If something is on your mind, speak up." Her eyes narrow, but she remains silent. I scoff, "Weak."

She then glares at me, anger and fury burning in her eyes, the first time I've ever seen her display something other than timidity. But despite her hateful glower, her voice continues to be nearly a whisper, although there is a hardened edge to it, "You shouldn't apologize unless you mean it, Edward, which you obviously didn't." She shakes her head in that same disappointed manner again, "And I am _not_ weak."

I roll my eyes, "Well, you sure as hell aren't strong."

She glances back at the ground in thought, a grimace on her face. Then she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath before glancing back up at me, her face blank. She reminds me of Carlisle, and I'm surprised by how much that bothers me. She sighs, "You're right." Even though she's putting forth a strong front that we Cullen's value, and even though I'm back in familiar territory with forced calms and tough exteriors, something tugs inside of me.

I want to say something, anything to erase the guilt I feel over hurting the harmless girl again. She was so tiny and defenseless; it wasn't fair that I continuously maimed her. It was incomprehensible why I was so defensive towards a mouse, yet I allowed sharks to swim through my life without a care. Even though I wanted to say something, to apologize, I knew I couldn't; that was an uncharted territory in the water that I would never willingly explore, so I safely opted to wade along the surface.

"Follow me inside and we can get started."

**(…)**

As soon as we stepped through the door of my house, Bella's eyes widened, taking in every last detail from the contemporary decorations to the one-of-a-kind architecture. She was clearly impressed, which was good, considering that it had been Carlisle's intention when designing this house.

"This place is amazing," Her mouth is agape, and she looks intimidated, appearing to be too terrified to move.

"Yeah, it should be nothing less than amazing, considering how much thought and money went into this place," I scoff.

Bella looks at me, her head cocked to the side, "You don't like it here?"

"No, I like it. I just think that something simple would have been perfectly fine, too." If there were only three people living here, why did we need ten bedrooms? Especially since one of _our_ bedrooms was the size of three ordinary, average bedrooms. I couldn't help but think that the millions of dollars that were spent on this house could have gone towards something better. When Bella doesn't respond, I think that maybe she misinterpreted me, so I launch into a defensive ramble, "Not that I'm ungrateful or unappreciative of our good fortune, but I just think that it's kind of unnecessary. This place is big enough to be a small hotel, but usually only one person is here at a time. It's so… empty."

Bella hasn't stopped staring at me, and it's making me extremely anxious. If Carlisle was witnessing this, I'm sure he would criticize me for allowing my confident composure to slip, but I couldn't help it. People had varying personalities, but beneath it all, we were all the same. We all had the same basic motives, the same basic drives, and the same basic emotions. It wasn't hard to figure people out, to interpret them, but Bella was different. I wasn't used to someone so silent and seemingly unthreatening, which threw me out of balance.

I didn't like it.

She shakes her head, "I get it. A smaller house is warm, whereas this place seems a little cold."

I force out a chuckle, "Oh no, each room has its own heating and air conditioning, so you can adjust everything to your own preference."

Instead of laughing and falling for my charm, she just looks at me, glimmers of sadness sparkling in her eye. "That's not what I meant."

I know it's not.

But I also know that I'm not willing to admit that everything about the Cullens is cold and empty.

I clear my throat, looking at her ear instead of her eyes. Carlisle had taught me when I was little that if I was ever too nervous to maintain direct eye contact, I should stare at their ear because it made it seem like I was staring them in the eye. I rarely had to use the technique, though.

Then Bella Swan decided to come along and screw everything up.

I tried not to focus on that though, so I gestured towards the stairs, "We can get started in my room."

**(…)**

As soon as I open my bedroom door, I can see that Bella is once again impressed, but there's also a speculative look on her face. For someone so quiet, her face is anything but. Every expression of hers speaks a thousand words. When she remains silent, I attempt to get her to speak up, "What, no compliments on how amazing my room is?"

Once again, my charms fall flat and she just looks at me, a curious gleam in her eye. "It's nice. Did you design it yourself?"

It's obvious that she knows I had no part in designing this bedroom, but I answer her anyway, "Esme loves decorating, so I just told her my favorite colors and let her have free reign over the design."

She nods, taking her time inspecting my room, before turning back to me, "If you had designed it yourself, what would it look like?"

Well, for starters, less like a Pottery Barn ad. I shrug, "I'm not sure. All I really care about is that I have a place to study and sleep."

_If only there was a place for music, though._

I shove the thought away. I knew how Carlisle felt about that. My time needed to be dedicated towards education. I needed to have goals that were actually attainable. Music was fruitless. A mere hobby.

"But it's your room, shouldn't it fit your personality a little more?"

This room was perfect. I was supposed to be perfect. It seemed close enough to me.

"Well does your room fit _your _personality?"

She nibbles on her lip, then nods, "Yeah, I suppose it does."

She doesn't elaborate, but I have grown to expect it by now. "And what, exactly, does your room look like?" I resent that I have to prod her for information, but I guess I should just be thankful that she's not as awkward and silent as she was earlier in school. For whatever reason, she's warmed up to me.

"White walls, white curtains, and blue bed sheets."

I can feel my nose wrinkling in distaste, "Sounds plain and boring."

She shrugs in acceptance of my diagnosis, and I can feel something twisting in my stomach, protesting. I know plenty of girls who insult themselves in search of compliments, but something tells me that Bella actually believes it. She thinks that she's boring and plain.

I want to say something, but I realize that it isn't my place. Somebody can't build your image and self-worth for you. It's something you needed to do for yourself; it made you a stronger person.

I was supposed to already have found my identity. Now I just had to wait for the feeling to sink in that I was doing something right, that I'm becoming the person I want to be, the person I need to be.

Then the emptiness will go away.

"So, do you want to start with your project or mine?" I take a seat on my bed, gesturing for her to join me.

She takes a seat at my desk instead, pulling her notebook out of her backpack. She presses her pen to the paper, intent on writing exactly what I had to say. "What does 'blood is thicker than water' mean to you?"

"Why didn't you sit on my bed?" I ignore her, intrigued by her peculiar behavior. If I'm being honest with myself, I'm also a little insulted. Any girl would kill to be in my bed, so why was the freak any different?

Her cheeks begin to flush, and I can feel a pinch of guilt that after she finally began warming up to me, I had to make her uncomfortable. She gnaws on her lip, "I, uh, I don't…I just, um, the desk is more comfortable?"

She's lying, but I don't push it. I sigh, "I guess it means that the family bond is the strongest bond there is. They're always going to be there for you, and you should always be there for them."

"So you don't think the family bond can be broken?"

No, it could certainly be broken. I knew that. Mine had broken before I was even a day old. Thankfully Carlisle had given me a second chance at a family bond, which is why I needed to do everything I could to make him happy. I owed it to him.

"I mean, I guess it _can_ be broken, but in a perfect world, it shouldn't be."

"There's no such thing as perfect, Edward."

So then where does that leave me?

**See? I kept my word about posting before the week was up ;D**

**Next chapter **_**should**_** be up within a week as well. **

… **So long as writer's block doesn't strike again.**


	7. Smart

**VII. Smart**

"So do you want to meet again on Wednesday? I've got football practice tomorrow and Thursday."

She nods, "Maybe Mrs. Banner will give us some class time to work on it, too."

"Maybe," I shrug, feeling slightly insulted again. Why was she in such a hurry to finish the project? Was I really that horrible to be around?

As I walk out of my bedroom with Bella, I hear the front door shut, and I freeze. Not because I'm not supposed to be bring people over. Not because I'm not supposed to spend time alone with girls. Not even because I'm not supposed to allow girls into my room.

It's because I'm allowed to do all of those things, but I can't picture my father's face when he realizes I chose a girl like Bella to bring over.

As soon as we reach the bottom of the stairs, Carlisle rounds the corner. "Hey Edward, who's truck-" And then he catches sight of Bella behind me, surprise flashing across his face. "Oh, hello Isabella."

She blushes, looking at the ground, nibbling on her lip. "Hi," she whispers.

I want to smack her. This is my father- Carlisle Cullen. He absolutely loathes weakness. I want to shake her, tell her to stand tall and stick out her chest, staring Carlisle dead in the eye as she speaks in a firm voice. I want her to make a good impression.

But why?

I shake my head. It didn't matter what impression my father had of Isabella. Once we were finished with the project, which Isabella obviously wanted to do as quickly as possible, we would never speak again.

I can see the corners of Carlisle's mouth turn downwards, but when Isabella glances back up, he neutralizes his face. "Well, it's good to see you, dear. Tell Chief Swan I said hello."

She nods, awkwardly shifting her weight from foot to foot. I want Carlisle to go away, but he remains rooted to his spot.

I scratch the back of my neck, "So, I'll see you Wednesday?"

Her eyes snap to meet mine, regret and insecurity swimming in her gaze.

She knows that Carlisle doesn't approve of her.

I hang my head, ashamed.

Even as I walk her to the door, I avoid her eyes. I hate that she keeps getting hurt. It doesn't make any sense. Why attack something that is absolutely defenseless?

As she steps outside, the need to say _something_ bubbles inside of me, and the words escape before I have a chance to stop them. "Isabella, wait, I-"

She turns around, her gaze catching me off-guard. The hurt is still lingering, but I can see flickers of hope. It scares me.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

The embers of hope die, disappointment taking their place.

It hurts much more than I anticipated.

When she gets in her truck and drives off, I close the door, resisting the urge to collapse against it. I know better. Carlisle is dead in front of me, ready to interrogate me.

"I didn't know you and Isabella were friends."

"We're not." If I had the energy, I would have rolled my eyes. "We're partners for an English project."

He stares at me for a few moments, and just as I'm about to cower away from his gaze, he nods, "Well, she seems like a smart girl. I'm sure you guys will fare well."

It's a seemingly harmless comment, some would even consider it a compliment, but I know better than to take it at surface value. _Smart girl_. I want to scoff, knowing that it was Carlisle's way of insulting her. I knew what he saw. He saw a weak, plain, and completely underwhelming shadow of a girl.

I know that it isn't fair of him to judge her so harshly after such a short time, and I know that I _should_ say something, but I also know that I can't. Besides, Carlisle wasn't one to be easily swayed. Standing up to him wouldn't solve anything; it would only make his judgment and scrutiny far worse.

Resistance was futile.

**(…)**

"So do you want to hang out tonight?" Jessica places a hand on my chest, biting her lip, "My parents are out of town."

I force out a chuckle, "Tempting, but I have football practice today."

"How about tomorrow?"

"I have-" I pause, realizing that it's probably best not to mention that I have plans with Bella. "I have to do some work around the house."

"I can't believe you. I sacrificed a friendship to be with you, but you can't even spare a little time for me?" She pouts, "You're not being a very good boyfriend, you know."

Yeah, I know. I've been told that by a number of females. You would think that word would have gotten around this small town by now, yet women still lined up to date me.

I didn't understand it.

I reach for her hand, kissing it. "How about Friday, babe? You can have me all to yourself then."

She's practically swooning, "Friday sounds great." Then she shoots me a sexy smirk, "I can think of a perfect way to start off the weekend."

_There's no such thing as perfect, Edward._

Maybe not, but I suppose this was pretty close. It was nice to get lost in someone else for a while, distract myself for an hour or two. I knew it was a selfish distraction, and I was using someone else for my benefit, but when I thought about it, I suppose the girls were using me just as much as I was using them.

They didn't love me. Contrary to the fairy tales and epic love stories, women weren't doe-eyed damsels that fell helplessly in love with their knight in shining armor. They were just as jaded and selfish as us. Perhaps they loved with the idea of a guy like me, the incredibly attractive and charming athlete that would grow up to be a rich doctor, but they weren't in love with _me_. They don't know, nor do they care, who I really am.

But I guess it's impossible to know who someone is if they don't even know themselves.

**(…)**

"So who's up for pizza after practice is over?"

I glance over at Emmett, who has clearly given up on the calculus notes. I shake my head in amusement, "All you can think about is food."

"Hell yeah." Then he pauses, smirking, "Well, food and one other thing."

Jasper cringes, "Don't even go there, McCarty. I should rip you a new one for thinking about my sister like that."

Emmett merely laughs, "You could never lay a hand on me, old buddy, old pal." He slings his arm around Jasper, conspiring, "Don't even act like I'm the dog of this group. Need I remind a certain someone of this recent Jessica and Lauren mess?"

I groan, "It's only been a few days. How the hell did word spread around so fast?"

"Forks is a small town. Anything even remotely juicy spreads faster than wildfire. People are desperate for any bit of gossip to brighten their boring lives, even when it isn't any of their business, and it doesn't affect them at all." Jasper's seemingly harmless words have become dark and bitter by the end of this speech, no longer referencing my romantic dilemma.

I glance at Emmett, unsure of what to do, but he merely shrugs before dropping my gaze. I awkwardly scratch the back of my neck, "Jazz, do you remember what I said about…my sister coming back to town?"

I'm not sure why I can't say her name. It just doesn't feel right. I've gone so long without saying it, fearing that it would stir up unpleasant thoughts or cause another endless fight, that it feels foreign on my tongue.

Jasper's eyes snap to meet mine, fire burning in his cool blue gaze. I'm not sure whether he wants to burn himself alive as punishment for past mistakes and regrets, or roast my worthless carcass for bringing up the name that he buried, that we all buried. Yet, for as tortured and conflicted as his gaze is, his voice is soft and tired. "I remember, Edward."

Of course he remembers.

How could he forget?

I clear my throat, "Well, uh, I was just wondering if, well…" I shake my head, disgusted at myself. I'm glad that Carlisle isn't here to witness this. He would be so disappointed, even though I can't deny that deep down, I know he shouldn't be.

If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place. There would be no taboo names. There wouldn't be that empty gaze in my mother's eyes when she thinks no one is looking. There wouldn't be a gaping, bleeding wound in Jasper's heart.

I take a deep breath, swallowing back my nerves. "I just want to let you know that if you want to see… her, I'll help you. I'm sure that we can come up with some kind of plan. Carlisle is so busy with work that as long as we aren't being too obvious, he would never know."

He remains silent, and I almost think that he's going to concede, but he sighs, "Alice has moved on."

"Jazz, I don't think-"

"I've moved on."

And even though I know it's a lie, I drop it. I can't fight for someone who isn't willing to fight for themselves. Only the strong survived in this world.

But if someone as spirited and valiant as Jasper had lost his will, what did that mean for me?

**So it's been a while, and I'm so, so, **_**so**_** sorry! You will get tired of hearing me say that, but I mean it sincerely. It's just really hard to write a story that focuses on a fictional person's problems when you have your own problems in real life to deal with. But I won't abandon this story, I promise. I'm working on the next chapter as we speak. **

**Also, I hate to sound like a review whore, but I would really appreciate feedback. I have no idea whether my story is horrible or not, and I want to know what I can improve on. How can you grow as a writer if you don't know what you need to work on? I'm not going to require a certain number of reviews before I write the next chapter or threaten to stop the story, but I am politely asking that you just spare a second to write one or two words that would inspire me on where to go with the story. It would be greatly appreciated!**


	8. Talented

**VIII. Talented**

"So did you work on any of your project last night?" I turn towards Bella, attempting to initiate polite conversation before the bell rings.

She looks away, blushing and nibbling on her lip. "I, uh, a little."

I'm taken aback, having thought we were past her anxious behavior. "Are you okay?"

She glances at me in confusion, but then focuses her eyes back on the ground. "Um, yeah, why?"

"Well, you just seem a little off today." She's still confused, so I clarify, "Yesterday evening you seemed to be more relaxed. Today? Not so much."

"It's just, um, how I am. I would rather be home, away from people." She mumbles as if it's one of her most shameful secrets; her greatest torment.

And it probably is.

She's lucky.

My greatest torment comes in the form of my family.

The family that expects everything of me.

The family that I owe everything to.

"But you were fine yesterday," I point out.

And then she looks up, bright and earnest eyes sparkling with wonder. "You're different."

Something foreign settles in my stomach.

I don't like it.

I open my mouth to respond, but the bell rings and Mrs. Banner launches into our lesson for the day.

**(…)**

As predicted, Mrs. Banner is allowing us to work on our project for the last fifteen minutes of class.

Bella turns to me, "So did you work on your project any?"

I ignore her, accusing, "You're different, too."

With any other girl, I would say it as a form of flattery, and they would eat it up without another thought, feeding it to their starving ego. Judging by the suspicious look in Bella's eyes, I think she knows this, which leads me back to my original point- Bella is so different than anyone I know.

I never know what to expect from her. She's so seemingly average and easy to overlook, and overlook her I did, but now that she's in my line of sight, I realize how wrong I was.

"I'm different, huh?" A ghost of a smile forms on her lips, "You mean Mr. Perfect doesn't know any other socially awkward people?" And I can't tell whether she's mocking me, or ridiculing herself.

"That's not funny," I mutter.

"Who says it was supposed to be?" And then her eyes are on me, swimming with too many emotions for me too entirely comprehend. Misery and self-disgust, hate and frustration. She wants things to be different.

But she knows they never will be.

I shrug, maintaining my safe distance by changing the subject, "I typed up the first page of my paper, but I quit after an hour. I feel like this is going to be the longest assignment of my life."

As speckles of hurt form in her gaze, I realize that she's misunderstood me. She thinks I'm annoyed with her, and why would she think otherwise? She has no idea how awful my family really is, and why I resent this project so much. It goes against everything thing my family has taught me, everything I've ever known.

The bell rings and she springs out of her seat, gathering her books in a heap and rushing away.

I should say something.

But I don't.

I needed distance, and judging by the look in her eyes, distance I was going to get.

**(…)**

"Jesus Christ, where the fuck is your head at, Cullen?" Mike sneers at football practice during our break.

I ignore him, walking over to grab some water.

He's relentless, though, and he stares at me in disgust, "You're a piece of shit, you know that? I don't know what it is about you that makes everyone think you're so fucking perfect."

I can feel the irritation seeping in, but I remain mute, taking a gulp of my drink.

"I bet a retarded cripple could play better than you."

I snap, walking over to stand in front of him. "Look you little piece of shit, you take one good look at where I stand, and where you sit. Who is the one good enough to play, and who is the one warming the bench?"

He stands so close that his sour breath bombards me as he spits, "That's because you're a fag who sucked the coach's dick for playing time."

I swing.

But my hands only catch air.

I struggle against the heavy arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me back. Emmett stands between us, his massive size blocking any attempt of a fight. "Chill dude, is a girl really worth fighting over?"

I glance at him in confusion, and then he turns towards Mike with a teasing grin on his face, "Edward will be done with Jessica in a few weeks. You can have her back then."

If he wasn't so embarrassed, I'm positive that Mike would have taken a swing at Emmett. He's just that stupid and delusional to believe that he could beat a guy twice his size. Yet, it's almost sweet that he's willing to get his face bashed in over a girl.

Almost.

It would be sweeter if Jessica wasn't so annoying and Mike wasn't such an idiot.

But the thing is, for as much as I dislike them, they're perfect for each other. And if Mike had been man enough to tell me his honest feelings rather than pick a fight, I probably would have ended it with Jess.

And then I would stay single for a few weeks, pretending to heal, and go find another girl to start the process all over with.

"Fuck you," Mike spits, "Fuck the both of you."

Emmett merely laughs, walking away from the insignificant insect. Once we're out of earshot, he turns to me with inspective eyes. "But seriously, Mike's right. What's wrong with you? I've never seen you so out of it before."

Because I've never felt like such a piece of shit before, which is saying something, because I've done a lot of shitty things in my life before.

"I'm just… I've just been thinking about Alice coming home." It's not entirely a lie, because I have thought about it, just not as much as I've been thinking about a pair of sad, brown eyes.

Emmett nods in understanding, "Yeah, I know it's going to be awkward at first, but I'm sure your parents understand why Alice decided to move."

Move?

More like forced, I want to snort. But I refrain from doing so, knowing that this is just another thing that Emmett has no clue about. This is just another secret that the population of Forks has no idea about. No one knows about the prestigious family forcing their daughter to another country for the sole purpose of salvaging reputations and appearances.

They were told that said daughter chose to move of her own free will for a better education, and because they were told by the perfect Cullens, no one questioned it.

And no one ever will question it, but I'm still paranoid, so I lay bait, "I was thinking about stopping by Tony's Pizza on the way home. You want to come with me?"

Emmett's eyes twinkle like it's Christmas day, "Hell yeah I do."

And even though he was trying to be a good friend, Emmett thankfully had a one-track mind.

And right now that track was destined on food.

I sigh with relief.

**(…)**

As we walk onto the parking lot, I notice that it's empty expect for a few other cars.

And a rusty, crimson piece of shit in the form of a truck.

I pay no attention to it, save for a few glances out of the corner of my eyes. I briefly wonder what she's still doing here, but I brush it away. She was probably one of those freaks that loved school, and she would stay until the janitors forcibly removed her.

Just as we reach Emmett's jeep, he blinks, removing himself from his food-induced stupor, "Dude, isn't that Chief Swan's daughter?"

I follow his line of sight, pretending to just notice her. Even from this distance, I swear I can see her furious crimson cheeks as she storms around the truck, peppering it with kicks and punches. I shrug, indifferent, "Yeah, so what?"

"So what?" He looks appalled, clearly intending to enlighten me, "So this is our opportunity to pay him back for not busting our asses for throwing that party last month."

"He still snitched on us to our parents, so I don't really see where we owe him shit." Granted, neither of our parents really punished us, but Chief Swan didn't know that. If we had average parents, we would have been in deep shit thanks to him.

"We don't owe him? Are you kidding me?" He snorts in disbelief, "Do you realize that he could have fined us up to the ass, or worse, put us in jail? That shit would have gone on our permanent record, and do you know what that means?"

I narrow my eyes, daring him to finish his sentence.

And because Emmett is clueless, he does, "That means your perky, rich ass wouldn't be heading to Dartmouth in the fall."

My fists ball, and it takes every ounce of willpower in me not to knock his teeth out. I try to reason that he doesn't know what Dartmouth means to me, or rather, to Carlisle. It's partially my fault for never telling him the truth about college, or the truth about my family, or really the truth about anything in my life.

But it doesn't stop my body from reacting to his words.

It's a threat to everything I've worked for.

Everything I intend on doing to express my gratitude.

Everything designed to finally get me out of the Cullen's debt.

Emmett mistakes my fury for brooding, though, and scoffs, "Whatever dude, you can sit here and pout all you want, but I'm going to go spread some Karma."

I glower at his retreating form, sliding into the passenger seat, and allowing my eyes to sink shut for a few moments. Just as I can feel the anger and anxiety finally evaporate, the driver door swings open. I turn to glare at Emmett for disrupting my peace.

But I'm met with startled brown eyes.

Emmett pokes his head from behind my nightmare's form, grinning, "Meet our new passenger, Edward."

Fuck.


	9. Good

**IX. Good**

I've always resented this rural town.

I resent it even more now, taking notice of just how spaced apart the houses are, and just how far away Bella lives from the school.

"Sorry I couldn't do much to fix your truck, but I could get Rose to look at it if you want," Emmett glances at Bella in the rear view mirror, smiling apologetically.

"Well, it means a lot that you tried." She tries to smile back at him, but she's too uncomfortable in this atmosphere, and it turns out like a grimace. She sighs, clearly aware of her failure. Hoping to bring attention off of her shortcoming, she asks, "So Rosalie likes to work on cars?"

"Hell yeah, my baby could open her own mechanic shop if she wanted to," he brags.

"Huh, I would have never guessed," she muses.

"Yep, my baby loves cars almost as much as she loves clothes." He glances back at her in warning, "Just, uh, if you ever happen to talk to her, don't act surprised. She hates it when people judge her."

"Bullshit," I snort, breaking my silence.

"Oh my, he speaks!" Emmett rolls his eyes, "And I'm sure he has such a great reason to open that precious mouth of his."

I ignore him, focusing on a pair of brown eyes in the back seat, "Don't listen to that 'oh, I hate to be judged' bullshit. We're all conscious of the appearance we're putting forth, and we're all guilty of judging people, so it's stupid to act surprised and offended when someone judges us." Then I turn towards Emmett, "If your girlfriend doesn't want to be judged as a stuck-up bitch, maybe she should ditch the designer clothes and superiority complex."

His grip on the wheel tightens, his knuckles draining of all color, and I know that the only reason he's restraining himself is because Bella is in the backseat. "People aren't black and white, Edward. Shades of grey, and all that other cliché shit, you know?"

Shades of Grey?

Perhaps that was why the world seemed so dreary.

I turn towards Bella, determined to shove her out of the shell she's retreated into. It seems that the more I get to know her, the more I hate myself for being a jerk to her, but somehow I'm also more open to pushing her buttons. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help but want to, so I ask. "And what do you think, Bella?"

Her eyes widen in fear of being put on the spot, but as she catches sight of my teasing smirk, she narrows her eyes.

Knowing that I've successfully pissed her off, my smirk grows.

Which pisses her off even more.

"I believe that we do form an opinion of people within the first few seconds of meeting them, but I also know that we need to keep an open mind about it. It isn't fair of us to place them into a box based upon our preconceived concepts. We've got to acknowledge and accept that our first impressions are usually wrong." She glares at me, "Some people need to stop believing that they're always right."

"Oh?" I hedge, "And what was your first impression of me?"

"That you were an arrogant, selfish prick."

I laugh, knowing that I've caught her in a trap. "And are you telling me that you were wrong? That I'm actually not arrogant and selfish?"

"Do you want the truth?"

The anger has left her voice, and my eyes snap to meet hers, seeing the honesty and intrigue lingering there.

_Lie to me._

And as if she can sense that I'm begging her not to say anything, she sighs, "No, I guess you don't. Why would you care?"

Emmett clears his throat, awkwardly glancing back and forth between us, "Well, I'm going to have to stop up here to get some gas. Do you guys want a snack or something?"

"No."

"No, thank you."

As Emmett parks and runs into the store, I glance at Bella in the mirror. She's staring at Emmett's retreating form as if he's left her in the lion's den during dinner time. I can't help but chuckle at her expression.

Her eyes snap to meet mine, glaring. "Something funny?"

"I'm not going to bite you, you know."

Her cheeks flush, and she glances at the floor, seemingly intent on ignoring me for the rest of our trip.

But I'm not having any of that.

I know I'm being a rude asshole yet again, but I can't ignore her. I need to say something. If I don't, my thoughts will plague me for the rest of the night. I'll forever wonder.

"What if I did care?" And I do. She may not know it, but I've been programmed to care. It's my duty to manage my appearance and how others view me.

Yet I can't help but wonder that even in another world, a world where I'm free of such responsibility, would I still care?

And rather than looking at me in confusion, she understands, perfectly. "If you cared, then I would tell you that you are arrogant and selfish."

I know it's the truth, but the words still slash at me. It feels as if a weight has been dropped on my chest. I close my eyes, bracing myself against the blow.

And then I hear her voice behind me, soft and reassuring, "But not nearly as much as you put on."

I don't understand her. I don't understand why she's pretending to know me. I don't understand why she's comforting me even though I've hurt her so many times. And because she confuses me, and takes me entirely too far from my comfort zone, I lash out again.

I scoff, "How would you know?"

"You want to know the good thing about being a social outcast?"

"You don't have to suffer through the annoying chatter of Forks residents?"

She giggles, "You mean Forks high isn't full of wise philosophers and brilliant poets?" And then she sobers, explaining, "When you're like me, you have a lot of time to yourself, but at the same time, you want some kind of human interaction. So you know what I do? I people watch. Over the years, I've gotten pretty good observing people and picking up on little details."

I raise an eyebrow at her, "So you basically just admitted to stalking me for the past few years."

"Actually, I never paid much attention to you until recently," she admits.

My mouth drops, somehow appalled that I wasn't worthy of being stalked. She merely laughs, "I told you that I thought you were an arrogant, selfish prick. Why would I observe such an obnoxious person?"

"So then what convinced you that I had any redeeming qualities?"

"Silence makes you uncomfortable," she declares, "Which lead me to suspect that you aren't as arrogant as I had originally thought. You do care what people think of you, and you interpret silence as criticism, probably because you're used to people being forthright about their opinions and admiration of you. If someone isn't constantly complimenting you, you think something is wrong."

"So I'm not arrogant, I'm insecure?"

"Yes," she nods, "The only question is why you're so insecure. I haven't quite figured that out yet."

And you never will, I want to tell her.

I want to warn her, want to save her from going through the trouble.

Yet, somewhere buried deep inside of me, I want her to try.

But I'm not ready yet, so I shake my head, "You're delusional."

She quirks a brow, "I'm on to you, Edward Cullen."

And I laugh like I don't have a care in the world, even thought my heart is threatening to beat out of my chest.

Just as I see Emmett exiting the store, I glance back at Bella. "Do you remember what I said earlier about the project taking too long to finish?"

I have to give her credit. She stares straightforward, her face completely blank, save for a slight crease between her brow. If not for that crease, I would have no idea that she's reliving the hurt all over again. She shrugs, indifferent, "Yeah?"

"I just meant that the project was taking too long because-" Because it goes against everything I've ever been taught, everything I value, even though in the depths of my mind I know it's wrong. "-because I hate creative writing." When she remains silent, I admit, "It's not, you know, because I hate being your partner or anything…"

She stares at me for a few moments in speculation, and for once, I don't disappoint her.

She grins, "And that is why you're not a bad person."


	10. Charismatic

**X. Charismatic**

I'm both incredibly relieved and grateful that the next few days pass by without any more fights with Bella. Instead, we pass the time with inane chatter, which I would generally find annoying, but actually isn't so bad. Turns out, Bella and I have a lot more in common than I would have ever expected.

And I think that if things were different, we would actually be considered friends.

As Bella pulls her notebook from her bag, she glances at me, "Do you want to work on your quote today?"

No.

But because we've spent our past few meetings discussing her quote and I don't want to arouse suspicion, I shrug, "Sure, what does 'don't judge a book by its cover' mean to you?"

"Well, obviously we should never assume anything about someone based upon their appearance, and we've got to fight against our instinct to do so."

"But if it's instinctual, can you really fight it?"

Suddenly her notebook becomes very interesting, and she fiddles with the tattered cover as she mutters, "I guess we can't really stop it, but we could at least be open –minded about it and accept people for their flaws."

I'm about to respond, but my door suddenly flies open.

"Hi sweetie, I was wondering if-" Esme pauses, surprised that I have company over, "Oh sorry, Bella. I didn't realize you were over. Where's your truck, dear?"

I choke back a laugh, amused that her piece of shit truck is Bella's trademark. It's one of the most easily identifiable vehicles in the town.

She shoots me a quick glare before addressing Esme, "It died the other day, and Emmett was saying that Rosalie isn't free to look at it until this weekend."

Esme frowns, "So how have you been getting around these past few days?"

"My dad's been driving me in his cruiser," she mutters, her cheeks flaming.

"Oh my, that's unnecessary," she locks her disapproving gaze on me, "Edward, why don't you carpool with Bella? It's only two more days before Rosalie fixes her truck. I can't believe you have been letting-"

I wince, preparing myself for a verbal lashing. Unlike Carlisle, Esme had no qualms of correcting mistakes in front of on-looking eyes. If you were in the wrong, she was going to call you out, regardless of whether you were her flesh and blood or the president of the United States. Judgment be damned.

I think that was one of my favorite things about her.

"Oh no, Mrs. Cullen," Bella interrupts, "Edward did offer to give me a ride, but I live on the opposite end of town. I didn't want to put him through all of the hassle."

Esme's eyes widen in surprise, cocking her head to inspect me with curious eyes. "You mean he willingly offered to wake up early and drive you?" Suddenly, an amused grin lights her face, "Sacrificing his sleep is the sweetest thing I think I've ever seen him do for a lady."

I groan, but her grin doesn't falter an inch.

It's not until Bella tenses, shuffling her gaze anxiously across the room while gnawing on her lips that Esme's teasing simmers. "Alright well, I'm going to get started on dinner. Good luck on your project." As she goes to leave, she begins to close the door behind her, but freezes for a moment in thought. She turns around, narrowing her eyes at me in warning, "Door stays open."

My cheeks burn at the implication.

Bella looks like she's about to start flopping around on the floor from lack of oxygen.

It takes a few moments after Esme leaves for us to recover from the awkwardness. I clear my throat, "She is right, though. I wouldn't mind giving you a ride."

She shakes her head, "No, I told you a thousand times, I don't want to be a bother. Charlie passes by school every day on his way to work, so it's no big deal for me to ride with him."

"And I told you a thousand times, you're not a bother," I insist. "Seriously, who willing rides in a cop car to school. Isn't that mortifying for a teenage girl?" And more importantly, I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with me. She would rather endure embarrassment than ride with me?

She shrugs, "It's not like everyone in this town doesn't already know my father is a cop. I'm not hiding anything."

"Bella, you hate attention. Driving to school in a cruiser places a neon sign over your head. When you get out of the car, you look like you want to pull your coat over your head and sprint into the forest."

She stares at me like I'm utterly stupid, "And what do you think would happen if I ride to school with you?"

Confused, I state, "I drive a Volvo…"

"It's not what you drive," she scoffs. "It's _who_ you're driving. Picture it, measly and awkward Isabella Swan in the passenger seat of charming and handsome Edward Cullen's car. The attention from that would be far worse than riding in a cruiser."

I pause for a moment, everything clicking into place. "Is that why you showed up to my car super late this afternoon? So no one would see you riding home with me?"

She looks away, but nods.

I open my mouth, but I can't think of any words. I know she's right. The school would be swarming with gossip if they thought I was forming a friendship with Swan.

Yet, why was it that I didn't really care until Bella mentioned something?

I had offered her a ride to my home this evening without even considering the consequences.

So why should now be any different?

"I don't care."

She looks at me in surprise, and if I'm being honest, I'm surprised myself. My heart is racing, and I'm not sure whether I'm terrified or happy. I'm fearful of the ridicule to come, and the gossip that's sure to spread, and the possibility that my family may hear of it. Yet, somewhere buried deep inside is this urge threatening to break free, convincing me not to care.

It's liberating.

Bella looks at me for a moment, weighing her options. Finally, she sighs, "I'll agree to carpool if you answer a question."

I'm weary, but I shrug in acceptance. "Shoot."

"Why do you resent this project so much?"

I bristle at the question, but will myself not to snap at her. She doesn't know any better. No one did for that matter. And I wasn't ready to share, so I redirected, "Who says I resent it?"

"Because every time the topic comes up, you get a hardened look in your eyes. Not to mention the fact that you have been avoiding working on your quote all week." She shoots me a tired look, "Also, your tirade in Emmett's car about how appearance is everything was a little tip, too."

My eyes widen in surprise. "Why are you so damn observant? Anyone else wouldn't think twice about that kind of shit."

She stiffens, gnawing on her lip before finally admitting, "My family isn't so big on communication, so I kind of learned to how to watch them and figure stuff out on my own."

And then it hits me. Bella _never_ spoke of her family. All I knew was that she called her father by his first name, and he was the chief of police, and even that piece of information was common knowledge that Bella herself didn't directly tell me. She never muttered a word of her mother.

"Why don't you ever talk about your family?"

"There isn't much to talk about." She shoots me a pointed look, "Why don't you ever talk about your sister?"

"There isn't much to talk about," I return her look. "She transferred schools. Were you friends with her or something?"

"Do I look like I would be someone who would be friends with Alice Cullen?" She snorts, shaking her head. "I had art with her. I never spoke to her, but she seemed like a nice girl."

I consider changing the subject, but decide not to. It doesn't feel right, especially not with my sister due home in a few weeks. I'm tired of pretending that she never existed. Contrary to whatever my family thought, she was an amazing person that didn't deserve any of this.

And she was a far better person than me, also contrary to what my family thought.

"She was a nice girl," I admit in a hushed voice, as if I'm expecting my grandfather to pop around the corner and roast me alive for muttering such a thing. "And she would have been friends with you, you know? She wasn't like me. She didn't really give a shit what anyone thought about her."

"And you do." She tilts her head to the side, inspecting me, "Why?"

This is it. My breathing becomes difficult, lack of oxygen threatening me into silence. But I don't want to be silent. Not anymore. Not when I feel so close to having an actual friend, one that knows the truth. I've known Jasper and Emmett for far longer, but I somehow feel closer to Bella. I want her to know everything, and I'm not sure why.

Is it because she doesn't have any friends, and there's no possibility of her spilling the truth to anyone?

Is it because she's smart enough to figure some of the truth out on her own, so there's no point in lying?

Or is it just because I instinctually trust her?

I'm not sure. I'm not sure about anything when it comes to Bella. I just know that I trust her.

"Well, you already know Cullen is a prominent name in the medical industry. We have our own corporation, and while it is primarily about medicine, business is also a big part of it."

She pauses for a moment, and suddenly a glimmer of understanding forms in her eyes, "And with business comes business partners."

I nod, "My family's big about appearances. If you don't have the right wealth or status, people don't take you seriously. If you don't have a pristine reputation, people are weary of conducting business with you. And most importantly, if you don't look a certain way, it gives a bad first impression. And first impressions are the key to good business."

She looks horrified, "So they just expect you to be some kind of Ken doll?"

"Well, attractiveness is part of it, but there's more to it than that. They're going to pass the business down to me when Carlisle retires, so I've also got to exude intelligence and charisma. They want me to be multi-faceted in order to attract a variety of business partners."

"So you just… do whatever they want you to do?'

It sounds horrible when she phrases it like that, and I'm ashamed, but I know she's right.

"Business is important," I shrug.

"Edward, that's horrible." She looks at me with such warmth and sympathy in her gaze, forcing me to look away.

"It's not so bad. They're pushing me to be a strong person, and if I'm successful, I'll inherit a successful business when I'm older."

"But is that what you want?"

No.

Something sharp punctures my heart, allowing all of my frozen emotions and forgotten hopes to come flooding out. I never wanted this, but what I do want is so silly and unattainable. It's all I've ever wanted, but it's something that I'll never have, and since there isn't anything else that I want, why not just follow through with the Cullen's plan for me?

And even if it wasn't a plan I was particularly fond of, it was so generous of them to offer, especially after all they had already done for me. They weren't even my flesh and blood, yet they were treating me better than my real family. How ungrateful would it be for me to shove everything back in their faces?

And I couldn't help but wonder about the consequences.

If they could completely disregard Alice, their own blood, what would happen to me?

I clear my throat, keeping my gaze locked on the floor, "Well, it's getting late. I guess I'll drive you home now."

I don't bother looking up, but I can imagine the hurt flashing across her features. The guilt consumes me, but I can't do this anymore. I fear that I've already said too much. What if it gets back to Carlisle and his father? I can't afford to be disowned for my selfishness.

I can't afford to lose the Cullens.

I don't have anyone else.

Just as we reach the bottom of the stairs, Esme pokes her head around the corner, "Oh, I was just on my way upstairs. I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner, Bella?"

"Oh, I don't really think-"

"Honey, we're home," My father interrupts, walking into the kitchen with my grandfather behind him. Upon realizing that we have company, they turn their scrutiny on Bella. As she begins to squirm, my dad looks away to relieve her.

Unfortunately, my grandfather does not. "Ah, company. To whom do we have the pleasure of meeting this fine evening?"

Bella stiffens beside me, so I explain, "This is Bella."

"His English partner," Carlisle adds before my grandfather can get any other ideas.

I hate that he feels the need to explain, but I know better than to contradict him, both for my sake and Bella's. My grandfather would eat her alive if he thought we were serious. I can't even imagine what he would do to me. Dating an average, small town shell of a girl? That definitely wouldn't appeal to potential clients.

"So is Isabella staying for dinner?" My grandfather asks.

Carlisle's eyes snap to meet Esme's, silently pleading for her to step in.

Esme's eyes focus on me, begging me to stand up, to not disappoint her.

I look at Bella, my face indifferent. "It's up to you."

I want her to stay, yet I don't. If it was just us, I would gladly ask her to stay. But with such intense scrutiny, I can't. Bella Swan is beneath me.

I only associate with worthy individuals. Business lesson 101: There wasn't anything people wouldn't judge. And the company you kept? That was one of the first things people saw. It was one of the first things people could tear you down for.

And being friends with ordinary Bella Swan would certainly get me torn down.

Disappointment flashes in her eyes, and she looks down, shaking her head, "No, I need to go home and fix dinner for Charlie."

I look at the ground, nodding in agreement, "I'll be back in a few minutes, mom."

I don't bother to look up and see the disappointment in Esme's gaze.

I only hope I'll be as lucky to avoid Bella's eyes.

They hurt so much more.


End file.
